Chapter 19

Yevgeny sneered. The little punk next door had grown into an annoying adult, just like his lawyer father. It was past time to find another place to live. He’d allowed his life to become too comfortable. After he finished this business with Grainer, Yevgeny would look for a new house. Perhaps back in West Virginia? The people there were uneducated boors, but they valued privacy. At his front door, Yevgeny gripped the doorknob and twisted. He’d take Natali and beat the truth out of her. Perhaps he’d spice things up and give her a chance to fuck her way out of the beating? Challenges always spurred his djinn to greater efforts.

The front door swung open and revealed ... an empty hallway. “Bozhe moi, “ the old Russian curse, “My God,” slipped out. This was impossible; his djinn could not disobey an order. Natalie was the single most reliable thing in his life. She was like gravity.

The thudding of his heart competed with the whisper from the air conditioner. His house was deathly silent. “Bozhe moi,” slipped out again. If Natalie had somehow rescued her daughter, then Grainer was dead. No amount of personal wealth would save him. And Natalie would have made it hurt. Other than what her bond required, his djinn had no sympathy for men.

If Grainer were dead, Yevgeny’s fortunes improved dramatically. He had his day’s pay, but more importantly, his taser with the remaining custom cartridge lay inside his safe. He’d locate Natalie’s daughter and subdue her. With Stephanie under his control, he’d resell her privately. Not through the Silk Road. With a bit of luck, this time, Pavlo wouldn’t steal his money.

Ten years earlier, Las Vegas, Nevada:

“Bozhe moi,” Yevgeny Timofeyev cursed after stepping out of the rented box truck. His left leg, numb from hours behind the wheel, wouldn’t support his weight. After steadying himself with the door handle, he scanned the area, hoping no one noticed his slip.

Not that speaking Russian was unusual here in America’s “Sin City.” Many of his former compatriots made their homes here decades ago. The Bratva, however, did not play well with others, and it made for exciting times. Within a year, they’d spilled enough blood to impact the tourist trade. United States federal agents descended on the city and declared martial law. The warring organizations took a step back and hammered out an uneasy truce.

No, the problem wasn’t speaking Russian. The problem was the price on his head. If the wrong person recognized him, it would be the end of everything. Pavlo Mogilevich, the Pakhan of the Solntsevskaya Bratva, had sworn a vendetta, a blood feud against the man who’d murdered two of his personal guards. It said much for the culture that the feud was over two dead guards with no mention of the stolen djinn. Not that it mattered, Yevgeny and Pavlo knew the truth.

The tingles in his leg faded, and Yevgeny took a few careful steps. He needed a shower, a good meal, and a proper bed. Finishing this last bit of business came first. In the back of his truck were two catgirls he’d contracted to deliver. The money for their purchase kept in a trusted Silk Road escrow account. Once the customers took delivery, the money, less a small handling fee, would be his.

Silk Road was the premiere darknet marketplace. Named for the ancient trade route connecting Europe and Africa to Asia, the first iteration of Silk Road on the darknet was so successful, the American government tracked down its creator. After the man’s trial, he’d received two life sentences plus forty years! The United States government did NOT want that criminal genius to, ever again, see the light of day.

For the last fifteen years, the Silk Road’s current incarnation had proved to be unassailable. Nation-states and potential competitors had tested its defenses and failed. No one knew who operated the site, but everyone believed in its trustworthiness. Silk Road treated each vendor and customer equally. Disputes were handled fairly and with little drama. The Silk Road’s management did it all with a minimal charge of two percent of each transaction.

At the rear of his truck, Yevgeny stopped and checked the area for watchers. Once satisfied, he thumbed the lock and slipped into the back. Both travel crates remained in place. Their contents healthy and kept asleep by the cheap Chinese med patches. Mounted to the forward wall was a pair of wireless internet cameras. With a click, he enabled both. They’d capture a video stream each time the truck’s doors opened. The resulting video was saved to the cloud and would serve as proof of delivery.

If it turned out the purchase was a sting, Yevgeny would be long gone. He’d still receive the money held in escrow.

“Goodbye, little kitties,” Yevgeny chuckled and exited the truck. He secured the doors with a simple combination lock and walked away. He’d parked his own vehicle nearby before renting the box truck under an assumed name. The papers for the false identity were another service purchased through the Silk Road. Once inside his car, Yevgeny activated a burner phone and tapped out a text message with pickup instructions to the customer. He was in a hurry to return home.

An hour past Des Moines, his private phone chirped. Yevgeny hadn’t survived this long by being stupid. His mobile phone looked normal, but he’d paid an extremely talented technician to gut the “smart” components and leave the basic telephone capabilities intact. His phone could not be tracked or controlled by a third party.

“Yes?” Yevgeny said.

The voice that answered had been heavily filtered. Still, there remained a hint of an accent. Not enough to identify Yevgeny’s caller, but enough to flag it as the voice of a non-American. “Only one bidder remains.” The auction for Natalie’s daughter was over.

He’d waited over sixteen years for this moment. “How much?” Even with his iron will power, a tremor of excitement crept into his voice.

The caller quoted an unbelievable figure, then added. “Less our standard two percent, of course.”

Yevgeny’s iron control evaporated. “That much?” he stammered.

“Two percent is the standard fee.” The voice of Silk Road admonished in its unemotional tone.

“No, no,” chuckling, Yevgeny corrected himself and took a deep breath. “My apologies, I referred to the total amount, not to your quite reasonable fee.”

“Of course,” The voice commiserated. “We here at the Silk Road wish to congratulate you. You hold the record for the largest single transaction.”

No shit! “Thank you.”

Then, the voice firmed. “The winner wishes to receive his property immediately. Do you wish our assistance in the delivery?”

“N-n-now?” He’d expected the auction to continue for another week. “I’m fifteen hours away from home. Tell them I need twenty-four hours minimum.”

“We will pass this on. However, be aware ‘he’ is most insistent.”

“Yeah, yeah, they always are.” Tapping the “off” button, Yevgeny settled back into his seat. While he had the best identification papers available—from the Silk Road, of course—they may not withstand a policeman’s detailed examination. Better to keep his speed five miles below the posted limit and keep out of trouble.

Barely four hours passed before Silk Road called back. “The buyer insists on picking up his property now.”

“Is his payment in escrow yet?” Once in escrow, the buyer couldn’t pull it out without penalties.

“It is. However, the buyer has authorized us to offer a one-hundred bitcoin bonus if he can make the pickup within ten hours.”

This was easily the most expensive pussy in history. Yevgeny checked the autopilot to see if it might be done. “Tell him two-hundred bitcoins, and he has a deal.”

An hour later, after more wrangling, they had a deal. The buyer agreed to a two hundred bitcoin bonus, but only if he could meet at the seller’s home for an immediate pickup. With all the financial arrangements made and assured of their two percent commission, the Silk Road opened a direct communications channel. “Mr. Roger Grainer, meet Gene Timms.”

For once, the highway traffic didn’t fuck him over. Yevgeny arrived at his house an hour before Grainer was due. In a rush to make the preparations, he parked on the street and charged inside. Natalie’s daughter was not there.

“God damn it, Nat. What do you mean, Stephanie’s next door?”

Tiny beads of sweat dotted his djinn’s forehead. He’d long ago learned how Natalie responded when he challenged her decisions. Not that she made many poor decisions. His business kept him on the road for two or three weeks each month. Natalie knew her place and how to ensure her survival. Pavlo, the fool, thought it loyalty. Yevgeny knew better; self-interest was a better motivator than fickle loyalty.

It took two halting attempts, but Natalie swallowed and spoke. “Stephanie and her friend Jason are playing a video game.”

“Isn’t Jason the little punk who cuts the grass? The kid I caught peeking in the windows?” Gene turned and stomped across the living room. He grumbled. “If he pops her cherry, your daughter’s value is cut in half. The genie market is flooded with used cast-offs.”

“Having a friend is an important part of her emotional development. I had brothers and sisters; she had no one.”

It made a woman’s kind of sense, but he needed to vent. “I’ll kill them both if that little punk bonds her.”

“Yevgeny, please, I followed orders and called just as soon as she ovulated.”

Her call was what prompted him to hold the auction. “How do you know they’re not fucking?”

“Stephanie knows her limits,” His djinn swallowed, “and she knows what would happen to me—if she broke them. They are friends, Yevgeny.”

Mollified by her submissiveness, Yevgeny stopped pacing and strode back to his djinn. He stopped well within her personal space. The heat from her body warmed his skin. With one extended finger, he reached out and traced her lips. Her eyes grew dark, and just like that, the master’s spell was complete.

He needed to settle down. If he knocked on the neighbor’s door in his current agitated state, they’d probably call the police. Natalie’s perfect body offered the ideal outlet.

“Come, Natalie,” he led, and she followed. In the dining room, the table was the right height. As an added benefit, she hated it when they made a mess on the furniture.

After Yevgeny finished, he spun Natalie around and used her mouth to clean himself. Many of the women he’d known wouldn’t perform such a simple act, but his djinn never complained. If he had to bet money, he’d say his djinn enjoyed the additional service. She’d wake soon enough and clean up any remaining mess. He needed to fetch his daughter back home.

Stephanie’s buyer, the American named Roger Grainer, turned out to be an impatient, entitled prick of a short man. When Yevgeny didn’t kiss his ass, Grainer changed to speaking in shorter, simpler words. As if anyone not able to recognize their better, must also be stupid. Yevgeny reminded himself of his imminent wealth. He could endure anything with so much money on the line.

Once Stephanie arrived from her “walk,” Roger produced a medpatch and placed it around the girl’s neck. Its medical nanites sedated her within seconds.

They’d transferred the girl and an overnight bag in the garage. Too many neighbors had outdoor security cameras. Of course, Yevgeny live-streamed the hand-off for Silk Road’s verification. Minutes later, he received a text stating the money transfer had begun. The Silk road would send a confirmation when the process was complete. Yevgeny wished every aspect of his life worked as smoothly.

An hour later, he still hadn’t received the confirmation. Yevgeny called the Silk Road.

The phone rang once before it was answered. “Hello, thief.“ A long-unheard male voice spoke in fluent Ukrainian.

Yevgeny’s mouth went dry. Pavlo? How could Pavlo Mogilevich answer the Silk Road’s telephone? He checked the handset to see if he’d misdialed. If Pavlo could hack the most secure site on the dark web, what else might the man do? It didn’t matter. Yevgeny’s life was over. The only thing remaining under his control was how well he died.

“Hello, Pavlo,” Yevgeny replied. There wasn’t anything else he could say.

“My congratulations, thief, on the successful conclusion of your auction.”

Thief? Well, it was true enough. “How did you hear of the auction? I specifically asked the auction house to exclude Eastern Europe.”

Pavlo chortled. It was the over-the-top belly laugh of a man who’d bested a long-hated foe. “Yevgeny Timofeyev or Gene Timms, if you prefer, know this, I am the Silk Road.”

Yevgeny’s mind froze; Pavlo knew everything!

Inexorably, Pavlo continued. “After you stole Natalie, if she did not kill you, I suspected you’d overcome her loyalty. Then you would breed her and sell the daughters. The dark web is the obvious place for such transactions. I resurrected the Silk Road and made it the most trusted marketplace on the darknet. So trustworthy, you used it for your own business. It has made many people wealthy, although none as wealthy as I. The funds from your auction have been transferred to me. I should congratulate you; the auction alone earned more money than it cost to create Natali.”

“Then we are even,” Yevgeny offered. He might survive with his life.

“Natali’s cost was trivial.” There was a rustle of cloth as Pavlo shrugged. “My honor and my pride are worth much, much more.”

“Pavlo, you should consider us even. I stole something of little value from you, and you repaid me by stealing a much larger sum of money.”

“You do not make the rules, thief.” Pavlo chuckled, then coughed. It had a wet, unhealthy sound. “I will consider us even, after I take the proceeds from the sale of Natali’s next daughter.”

This told Yevgeny that Pavlo’s knowledge was limited. He laughed. “Pavlo, old friend, you give away much. There are no other daughters. Natali’s womb dried up after her fourth daughter.”

“Only one daughter? The thief doesn’t know the secret of her fertility. Well, there is time for you to learn, or perhaps I may take your life. Either will make us even.” It is my hope, thief, you never learn the secret.

Present Day:

The upstairs hall lay empty, with no sign of violence. The door to the small bedroom was locked from the inside. Yevgeny used the emergency key kept on the trim above the door.

“Did you catch her?” Red-faced and fuming, Grainer rose from his seat on the bed. “I think she hid behind the door and slipped out behind me.”

Yevgeny scanned the room. The lack of decorations reminded him of the cheaper motel rooms he’d used. “It seems we both have a problem with missing property. Come, we will search the house.”

In the end, after failing to find a trace of either genie, they returned to the small bedroom. There Yevgeny found the unlocked window. If Natalie’s daughter went out the window, then the little punk with the convenient ladder was involved. What had Natalie said back then? “They are friends, Yevgeny.” At no point had his djinn said the boy and her daughter weren’t sexually involved. Nor had she assured him her daughter hadn’t bonded to the boy. She’d carefully answered each of his concerns without a single falsehood. It was a masterful performance, and in his arrogance, he’d fallen for it. How long had his djinn schemed against him? “Bozhe moi,” he swore again. When hadn’t she?

Of course, Grainer heard the expletive. “What did you find?” Roger tried to edge past.

Stepping to the side, Yevgeny pointed at the open latch. “I think your pet went through the window.” He didn’t add anything about the neighbor and the ladder.

“Oh, ho!” Roger brightened. “Well, go out and get her.”

Telling Grainer about the neighbor with the ladder opened another box of worms. Roger had an issue with “used” females. Many of his catgirl clients insisted on “fresh.” But for them, the reason was the kitty’s five to ten-year life spans. Grainer’s issue was far more problematic. If he learned of his pet’s probable history, all hell would break loose. Yevgeny might as well kill the man now.

Sighing, Yevgeny lifted the sash and peered out. He needed time to decide what to tell Grainer. A little roof-top exercise would give him a few minutes. If nothing else, he could check his own gutters. The shingles showed faint scuff marks. He followed the marks to the peak and from there to the far edge of the roof. Down below was the spot where the neighbor had stood with his ladder. Damn you, Natali. It was a maskirovka worthy of a Russian. As he turned back, a McCandless police cruiser pulled into the circle and stopped. A uniformed officer climbed from the vehicle and glanced up. Yevgeny waved; he was just a typical homeowner strolling about on his roof. The police officer waved back.

Roger held the curtain to the side while Yevgeny climbed back inside. “She’s not there? How did she—”

Yevgeny waved him to silence. “A police officer is headed next door,” While Grainer worked through the change in the situation, Yevgeny latched the window shut.

“But-but what if the neighbor has my pet? What if he gives her to the police?”

“Then you and I are fucked, yes? You may call for your limo and leave if you wish. What will you say if the police stop you for questioning?” Something about the window drew his attention. The alarm company had mounted sensors to each window and door, all through the house. Why hadn’t the alarm tripped? The system should have sent a text each time someone opened a window or door. Had his djinn hacked the alarm system as well? What else might she have done?

Turning to the door, Yevgeny said, “Come, there is something else I must check.”

Alfred kept watch on the two men via the security cameras. He didn’t like how well they cooperated.

Yevgeny and Roger stomped their way to the garage and flipped open the circuit breaker panel. Every camera, microphone, and sensor went dead.

“This isn’t good,” said Alfred.

“Thank you, officer,” Jason smiled and closed the front door. He turned around in time to catch Stephanie peeking around the corner.

“What did she want?” Stephanie asked, just before wrapping him in another bone-cracking hug. The arrival of the police had frightened her and Natalie. They’d hidden downstairs.

Oops! He’d known the police were coming, but with Natalie’s presence and her surprise, it had slipped his mind. “It’s all right; Dad arranged police protection for us. They’ll keep watch all night.”

Natalie followed at a more sedate pace. She stepped into the hall, and his mind took an inappropriate trip to the past. He remembered that little red skirt and Stephanie’s insistence her mother could wear it. There was no doubt Natalie would fit into that skirt.

If anything, Natalie watched him right back, with even more speculation. “Jason, why don’t you take Stephanie upstairs and see if she needs anything? I’ll keep busy fixing lunch. Come back down when you’re ready, but don’t rush anything.”

Jason pushed his bedroom door shut. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to your mother,” He turned to see Stephanie surveying his room. “If you’re looking for your suitcase?” he pointed to his dresser.

She shrugged and glanced away. “I expected to see trophies from all your other girlfriends.”

Uh oh, time for a distraction. “My favorite trophy is on the desk.”

Stephanie gave him an impossible to interpret glance, then she strode across the room and pointed at the photo album. “This?” she asked.

“Yep, it’s full of trophies.” he replied.

She picked it up and stepped to the side, angling to catch a bit of light seeping in around the blinds. Jason undressed while Steph flipped through the pages. Other than a gasp of surprise at the contents, she didn’t say anything until he stepped behind her.

“Who made this?” she asked.

“Mom or Dad, I guess.”

“Huh,” she said. “My guess is your mom.”

“Probably, she always liked you.”

Still facing the window, Stephanie returned the book to the desk. Her index finger lingered on its closed cover. Then with a sigh, she turned and pretended surprise at his nudity. “Uh, oh, the monster’s out.”

“The monster,” Jason said, “wants to know if you’re still sore.”

Stephanie’s eyes unfocused for a moment. “Everything feels normal. So, it’s probably better. Why?” Those eyes glinted before she assumed an innocent, eyes-down pose.

Instead of an answer, Jason leaned forward and kissed her shoulder. Then he kissed and nibbled up to her neck and then behind her ear. He kept his hands moving. Drawing his fingertips through her hair and up under her shirt. The idea was to present a range of cool touches in unusual places. He knew he was on the right track when she shivered.

Before they got too deep into it, he unzipped her skirt. The fabric hung up on her hips and Stephanie gave one of those interesting wiggles to help slip the garment down.

“It’s time to take the training wheels off, Sweetheart. Arms up, now.” Carefully, he lifted her spaghetti strap blouse over her head.

One of the best things about knowing someone well, was the ability to read their moods. Right now, Stephanie’s consternation with his taking control warred with her curiosity. Curiosity won. “What are you going to do?”

“We’re taking a trip,” he said and tossed her spaghetti strap blouse in the direction of the desk. All she had left were a pair of pink, polka-dotted, hip-hugger panties. “I approve of your undies.”

Anticipation gave her the jitters. “Mom picked them out for me.”

“Scoot back on the bed and you’re might want both pillows.”

“Why both and what kind of trip?” she asked, but she also complied.

Jason followed, anticipation eroding his self-control. He hadn’t been this eager since their first time yesterday morning. “Lift your butt. I love the polka-dots, but they got to go.” The cute undies got tossed towards the rest of her clothes.

“Jay? What about the pillows?” she gasped when he lifted her ankles straight up. She probably thought the extra pillow went under her butt.

“One goes under your head. The other is for later. Sweetheart, we’re going to pound town. Your Mom’s gonna hear everything if you make too much noise. You can scream into the pillow.

Stephanie had strong willpower, and because of his pillow challenge, it took an effort to make her scream. But scream she did, mostly there at the end, and it was fantastic.

“You’re so mean,” she said in her dreamy, post-coital voice and snuggled back into his arms. It seemed she liked spooning as much as he. For him, it was like curling up against a banked fire.

“Me? How am I mean?” He congratulated himself on lasting long enough.

“ ... ade me scream.” her words faded out as she drifted away.

There was no question that he satisfied her. Emotionally and physically, they were a perfect match. Although, unlike Steph, he wasn’t drowsy. Their trip to pound town gave him an enormous blast of energy. Before easing out of bed, he swapped the other pillow for his arm underneath Stephanie’s head.

Freshly showered, wearing loose jersey shorts, and carrying a T-shirt, Jason entered the kitchen. On the far side of the breakfast counter, Natalie glanced up from one of Mom’s cookbooks.

She asked, “Do you think Shirley would mind if I programmed a few recipes into the robochef?”

Despite teasing Stephanie about her mother hearing them, sometime during his shower, he’d forgotten all about Natalie. Seeing her brought back her need for a new bond. Natalie must have had similar thoughts because her eyes traced his torso with apparent approval. The intensity of her stare was strong enough to intimidate, and he lifted his shirt to put it on.

“Hold on,” Natalie commanded. She twirled her raised index finger in a circle. “Turn around.”

Feeling a bit like a bull at auction, he complied. Her chair scraped on the tile floor, and quiet footsteps padded close. A pair of strong, extra warm hands poked his shoulders and then prodded their way down his back. Natalie murmured, “I’ve never seen a man so well built.”

Those strong fingertips stopped far enough below his waistline to make him sweat. “Mmm, mmm, mmm, my daughter picked a good one.” Did that make him a prize stud? Natalie was a take-charge kind of woman, and she continued her examination. “Make a muscle for me.” He didn’t have the perfect definition of a bodybuilder, but if you hung around a gym long enough, you learned the poses.

Jason took a breath and flexed into the classic rear double biceps pose. “I’d be a lot bigger if I warmed up first,” he added.

Natalie squeezed his biceps and ran her fingers over his lats. “Oh, I don’t know. From all the noise upstairs, I’d think you were big enough.”

Heat suffused his cheeks. A woman’s ribald comment hadn’t made him blush in years. What was it about Stephanie’s mother that turned him into a teenager?

“All right, Romeo, I’ve embarrassed you enough. You can put your shirt on.”

He complied and turned to watch Natalie walk back to the counter. From the rear, he couldn’t tell her and her daughter apart. Her hips even had that same hypnotic sway. Suddenly, his choice of loose shorts became a bad idea. Concerned she’d notice, he hurried to the refrigerator and opened the door. Maybe a blast of cold air would help?

It didn’t, but the handy lemonade pitcher provided some awkwardly carried cover. From the far side of the counter, Natalie watched him navigate with a grin. With all her experience, she probably knew the effect she had. After closing the distance, the intervening countertop gave him some needed coverage. Jason breathed a sigh of relief. “Would you like some unsweetened lemonade. I made it extra tart for Steph.”

“Oh, the famous Thomas lemonade? Sure, I’ll try some.” Natalie brought out two glasses.

He lifted the pitcher and realized he’d forgotten the ice. There was no way he’d make it across the kitchen and back without her noticing. This close, he couldn’t even make an adjustment. Not that the old “tuck it under your waistband” worked all that well. “It’s better without ice,” he said, and she nodded.

Natalie sipped and nodded her approval. “It’s wonderful,” she smiled and set the glass back down. “Tell me, Jason, how is it you’re not bothered by having two non-humans in the house?”

“You and Stephanie are human. It’s the assholes who think they own you, who aren’t.”

“But we’re not. Gene has the papers to prove it.”

“Like I told Stephanie, I’ve seen her naked. She’s one hundred percent human.”

“The first time would have been when you two were sixteen, right?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t a secret anymore. They’d both consented and had been the same age.

“Did you two ever go all the way?”

“No. Stephanie told me she’d promised you she wouldn’t.”

“And you didn’t push? I think Steffi would have done anything for you, regardless of her promises.”

“Maybe, but I loved Stephanie then, every bit as much as now. There isn’t any way I’d make her break a promise.”

Natalie scrutinized him again. This time, with even more intensity than before. Slowly, unbelievingly, she shook her head. “I’ve known a lot of men...”

Jason’s mouth dried up again—the biblical meaning of “knowing a man” didn’t escape him.

“and none of them were anything like you. Are you even real?”

He swallowed. “I’m real enough for Stephanie—and for you if necessary.”

Now it was her turn to blush. At this moment, Natalie’s resemblance to Stephanie was so strong, it almost made him jump the counter and hug her.

A rustle of bare feet on the carpeted stairs came from the hall. A second later, Stephanie, her hair in disarray and wearing one of his T-shirts, shuffled into the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and made a beeline for him. “Scoot back,” she said. He scooted his chair back, and Steph crawled onto his lap.

When he hugged her chest to his, he noticed there wasn’t anything but Stephanie underneath the shirt. His little problem, which hadn’t fully subsided, rose to its former glory.

She’s going to kill me. There wasn’t any way to disguise it.

Stephanie made it worse by wiggling to snuggle in closer. She stopped and leaned back, looking him square in the eyes. “What’s this?” A little hip shimmy made her question clear.

“Ah ... I—” What was he supposed to say? Your mom makes me horny?

“Is there a problem?” asked Natalie.

I’m going to die.

Stephanie glanced over her shoulder. “Jason got out of bed too soon, and he’s still...” another shimmy. “I can feel how much he misses me.”

“It must be one of those romantic love things. The only thing men make me feel is disappointment.”